


Bid my blood to run

by JaqofSpades



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kisses Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been gone seven months when her skin comes back to life.  Touch had been hollow, without him, but she'd still cried until she realised the sun’s rays had felt like kisses, and a hot shower stung with bliss. This wasn’t a tragedy. It was a reset.  A do-over.  A chance to get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hurtslikeyourmouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hurtslikeyourmouth/gifts).



> This started life as part of the kisses meme and will span three kisses for hurtslikeyourmouth - the "I missed you kiss", the "seductive kiss," and for extra value, the "good morning" Kiss.

He’s been gone seven months when her skin comes back to life.   A tingle becomes an itch, then progresses to a massive sensitivity to heat, light, touch. The first day someone snatches a hand back, stung, she apologizes and heads upstairs to pack.

She’s closing on Juneau when the suppressant finally leaves her system. Her skin purrs and stretches like a hungry little cat, every synapse snapping with the need to touch, to feed, to steal. Rogue takes a steadying breath and waits for the horror to come spiraling up from her gut, but it never does. She steadies the wheel with one hand as she rummages in her duffle with the other; by the time she finds her favorite pair of opera gloves her heart is thumping with anticipation. She pulls her truck to the curb to take her time putting them on, the luxurious stretch to settle her fingers into their silky prison, the sensuous drag up over her forearms and elbows until the gloves snug on her upper arms, a tiny sliver of exposed flesh all she has left to worry about.

Rogue is astonished to find herself grinning with joy.

(She takes them off not long after. They make reading the map tricky, and besides – she hasn’t seen another soul in two days.)

His cabin is northwest of Whitehorse, halfway up a mountain that only has a road circumnavigating its base. A two, maybe three hour hike, she estimates, more if she tries to stuff too much in her pack. He’s going to have everything she needs, Rogue reassures herself, so all she needs to take is her personal stuff. Underwear. Tampons. Three brand new, never worn microsilk bodysuits.

Condoms, she thinks defiantly.

How is she going to explain to him that she’d taken the cure for a kiss, a touch, then never wanted to do anything more than that? Had retreated into her head instead, desperately searching for him.

She’d felt so hollow, so abandoned, that she gone searching for them all.   She looks at Bobby, and he’s so flat, so uninteresting, without the freezing bite of his ice, and John, who’d been around more now they were officially cooperating with Magneto – just in time to be just another sullen kid, not that mesmerizing flame flaring to glory behind her eyelids. The Professor, her emotional rudder, warm and steady and wise, even Magneto, more useful than she liked to admit with his easy brilliance and razor wit – they’d been mere props in her head, compared to Logan.

He was more real in her head than anything that existed outside of it, his thoughts weaving around hers, his abilities always available to her, his memories a hodgepodge of horrifying and instructional and revelatory.

They’d talked about it once, sitting on his bed, watching the Flames demolish the Leafs offense, a six-pack between them. “I hate this stuff,” she’d frowned as she slurped back the beer, and he’d raised an eyebrow and asked why she drank so damn much of his beer if she didn’t like it.

“Because you do, sugar,” she’d sassed back, and he’d raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Hockey?”

“I’m from Mississippi, Logan. We don’t have ice.”

“Huh. The bike?”

“Can’t say I could fix the damn thing before you, but that’s probably partly me, too. Not a lot of girls could say no to something like that between their thighs.”

His eyes had flared to yellow with that, and his lips had started moving before his good sense reminded him they didn’t talk about sex.

“What about other things between –“

If she’d been kind, she would have let him back away from that. If she’d listened to cacophony of voices in her head, she’d _do the right thing_ / _don’t tease the beast_ / _back the fuck off please babygirl_ / _ohyuckRogue_ / _yeah Roguey, what’s him and what’s us and what’s you?_

“I don’t know, sometimes. What’s me and what’s you, and what’s them … I was kinda young before all this. Hadn’t thought about it a lot.”

“Your first kiss,” he said sympathetically, and she had grimaced her agreement, looking up at him through the curtain of her hair.

“But that wasn’t really the start of anything other than, just – a horrible way for my mutation to kick in, you know? But Cody, having a boyfriend, being kissed – it didn’t teach me anything about … myself, or what I liked or anything,” she explained haltingly.

“It wasn’t until I saw you, that first time in the cage, that I felt, or even thought …” Rogue had succumbed to her teenage embarrassment and left the words flailing in mid-air. But she already knew she didn’t have to continue.

The sweet reek of her sex had made things perfectly clear.

Rogue wanted all kinds of things, because she was all kinds of people, but sweet Marie had wanted him even before she had learned what wanting was. Marie remembered how her breath had caught when the grotty sulphur-tinted lights first played across his back, and the way her entire body had shuddered as she watched his muscles shift under his skin.   Her horror, and fascination, as the blood flowed over his fists, and the way his voice had left her shifting on the bar stool, hungry for something other than food.

And after, the warmth of his camper and her excitement when, just for a minute, his gaze had lingered on her lips and then roamed her chest before casting her as a child, and himself as the reluctant, curmudgeonly adult she’d chosen to protect her. She’d played along, sure, but it hadn’t been innocent, not then, well before things had spun out of control and they’d had to settle on friends. That role, with its teacher-student overtones and sweaty sparring and regular life savage, came with a new set of boundaries that they were obliged to respect while under Xavier’s roof. Every time Logan yanked his gaze away from her lips, she wanted to tell him his blowjob fantasy was mild compared to the detailed scenario she had dreamed up as they crossed the snowy wastes together. But she didn’t, couldn’t, can’t.

“Goodnight,” she would say instead, and flick her tongue over the cupid’s bow he liked so much. “Stay cosy.”

It was cruel, perhaps, but an evening in his company sends her straight back to that cramped little camper. Those are the nights she needed to make herself come again and again, and it’s still her go-to fantasy. Dragging him away from the fights, then laying him down in the back of the camper, bathing him. Worshipping him. Taking what she so desperately wants, but can only have in fantasy, or dreams.

This Rogue – Marie – gets to soothe every fast-fading bruise and scratch with her fingers, and then her mouth. Her clothes melt away, his eyes burning as they take in the glow of her skin in the close, warm dark.   His mouth is hot as he sits up to capture one of her nipples, and her voice snaps with command as she pushes him flat, straddling him to keep him obedient.

She teases herself with him, slick, slippery petals swelling with want as she drags them back and forth, back and forth over his twitching cock. She smirks at his growl of frustration as she rubs herself to satisfaction, jerking and gushing, without once granting him entrance to her body. Smirks at his whine of repentance when she pushes herself off him, only to settle her pussy over his mouth as she licks him as assiduously as any girl with her favorite lollipop. He's licked his seed off her body and made her come twice before she surrenders to the need to have him inside, huge cock tearing 

Rogue moans into the silence of the cab as she guides the truck off the main road and up towards the mountain.   He’ll smell her coming, that’s for sure. Will he know the difference, even before he notices the gloves? Will he somehow have heard?

Maybe he’ll pull her into his arms, and she’ll let him kiss her, lips to lips, just for a moment. He’ll never be whole again inside her head – please God, because she can’t bear to take him that close to death, never again - but just a taste of him would be enough.

Just a taste, a little every day, a little more each time, and she’ll never lose him again.

Never miss him again.

Never be alone, ever again.


	2. Seductions

Rogue is checking the coordinates for the third time when a stand of trees suddenly reveals the cabin half hidden in the lee of the ridge. Even without Logan the survivalist in her head, she still manages to admire the use of the terrain to disguise the dwelling and protect it from the elements. It looks like just another bare rockface protruding out of the snow, especially from a distance …

“Quit stalling,” she snarls, then forces herself to cross to start across the gap, years of frustrated hopes and dreams heavier than anything she is carrying on her back.

As she gets closer, the rock wall resolves itself into a long, low structure at the base of a cliff, natural stone used to build several newer looking rooms at one end of what was once obviously a traditional wood cabin. Her knuckles barely make a noise, at first, and she has to summon her courage to rap them loudly against the wood.

She waits, frowns, and then knocks again. Then a third time, impatiently this time.

The door flies inward to reveal a scowling Wolverine. His hair is dripping with sweat, Rogue forces herself to notice, and the room is full of sweet-smelling steam.   And lord almighty, that towel is _tiny_.

“Rogue?

She drags her eyes up to his, forcing herself not to linger on the individual striations of his abs, or the massive swell of his black-pelted chest. Her mouth is so dry, she has to try twice before she manages to croak his name.

“Logan. You telling me you don’t have eyes on that mountain?”

Because she hasn’t seen the man in seven months. Because they’ve got nothing more to talk about than his fucking security system.

He raises a brow at her snippiness but manages to keep his tone neutral.  

“Most people take longer to get up it. Been chopping firewood. Wanted the place warm for you.”

She can feel the licks of heat from the fire crackling in the massive stone fireplace at the far end of the room, but it’s a modest blaze compared to the conflagration inside. No one else ever made her crave like this, she remembers suddenly. Her skin is desperate for his potency, her sad, empty mind wants him to fill her spaces, but her body and soul … she wants to pull away that towel and sink to her knees and start at his surprisingly elegant toes. By the time she got his mouth, they’d never be able to hide from this, ever again.

“Rogue!”

She puffs out a breath and tries to let go of the fog of arousal. “Feels nice. Can I come in?”

He holds the door wide and she steps past him, stamping her feet onto the snow grate and shrugging out of her coat and backpack before proceeding into the room proper.

“I’ll go and put some clothes on,” Logan rumbles behind her, and she bites her tongue for fear of telling him not to bother. They need to talk, and soon.

She forgets that Logan knows her almost as well as she knows him. He emerges from the bedroom that takes up the entire eastern end of the house and pushes her toward the couch before crossing to the little kitchen. He makes coffee, his black, hers strong and milky, then waves a bottle of whiskey in her direction.

“You 21 yet?

She snorts but he sloshes the liquor into both mugs anyway. “Felt like three years, that’s for sure.”

He’s put her coffee in her cold hands, and folded himself into the other end of the couch before he nudges her to explain.

“Since you took the Cure?”

Since you left me, she thinks, but can’t say. “It was such a novelty, at first. So quiet, so … free,” she tries to explain. “And then I realised some things.”

He takes a long swallow of his own coffee, then tilts his head asking her to go on. It’s the rise and fall of his chest that does it – he’s nervous, just like she is, but this. This is the moment she must slay their dragon.

“It’s just touch. Just skin. Hollow, without …”

She’s holding her breath, and he’s perfectly still, just waiting for the blow to fall.

“Someone I wanted to touch. To kiss. To do everything else with.”

He takes a blind gulp of his coffee and stares straight ahead, seemingly mesmerised by the fire. She’s left him an out, she knows. A chance to make soothing noises about the right boy coming along, or finding someone who deserves her. But he’s clenching his jaw, practically grinding his teeth, so she forges on.

“But you were gone.”

His entire body swings to face her, his eyes roaming her face as if to confirm she really said that. Admitted it.

“Couldn’t stay and watch you,” he rasps, and her brow furrows before she catches his meaning. Watch her experiment. Watch her try to feel something for the boys who flocked to the newly-touchable Rogue. Watch her fail, but guzzle their half-hearted touches anyway.

Gambit had gotten furthest. She barely knew him, he was older, and something about the way he used his body reminded her of Logan. His kisses had been allowed to wander. He’d wrapped his clever tongue around one of her nipples as he dragged a knuckle back and forth over the seam of her jeans, and it had been good, superb, everything, for a few dizzy minutes. He’d pushed her over into the first orgasm another person had ever given her, and was sweet about it later, not even teasing her about the torrent of sound that had ripped out of her throat. Later, she’ll rerun the scene in her head, and realise just how much of a gentleman he was.

It had been Logan she had begged to make her come, Logan she had screamed for, the memory of Logan that had flung her over the edge.

It wasn’t fair to any one of them, even with him not there. So she’d stopped, and focused on college and the team and the simple pleasure of a summer spent in shorts as she waited for him to come back.

And then her skin woke up.

She’d cried until she realised the sun’s rays had felt like kisses, and a hot shower stung with bliss. Silk was a daydream on her skin, and satin her slippery, dirty, past-midnight fantasy. Her blood was running high, her libido roaring, her body coming to life. This wasn’t a tragedy.

It was a reset. A do-over. A chance to get it right.

“What?”

“My skin. It’s come back.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

She doesn’t question how he knows; she has inhabited his skin and smelt the tangy acid undertone to the sweeter scent of her body, heard the weird resonance they created. Marked the change with her moods, a contented buzz or a sharp clap of anger.

Right now, her body will be humming, she knows. That’s what it does most, with him.

“Can you hear it?”

He has to swallow before he answers. “Yes.”

“You didn’t need to get dressed.”

“Rogue -- ”

“What? You don’t fancy my lips around your cock anymore? Am I too old, Logan? Too dangerous?”

“No! You – we – we can’t.”

“Why? Why can’t we, Logan? I’m done with school. I’m nearly 20. And I have tried my hardest not to be yours, but it didn’t take,” she says plainly. “It was like a sign. My skin came back, and everything was so much better. I was ready.”

She’s shifted to face him, kneeling up in her bid to make her case. They are so close she can smell the woodsmoke in his hair, see the warmth of the fire flushing him pink where the neck of his t-shirt dips down a little. Her heart throbs faster for a moment – a brush of a finger, the tiniest of kisses, and he’d be hers again, so easy, right there, done – and she’s tempted, of course she is, but there’s another hunger that needs feeding more.

So she leans into him, and uses her gloved hand to caress the side of his face until he turns to look at her, nose to nose, just inches apart.

“I went out and bought a bodysuit, Logan. Two of them, in fact. So thin, you can see the colour of my nipples through ‘em, but protective enough that I won’t hurt you. Got a dildo too, just in case you don’t want … but I bought six boxes of condoms in case you do.”

She’s close enough to see the wave of arousal crash through his body, chest swelling and biceps bunching and, inevitably, the blades ripping free of his hands. Rogue gasps, knowing just how far gone he has to be for an involuntary response to overpower his control. She’s never doubted he wants her, but seeing it, feeling his response to her – that’s new. And intoxicating, even without the blades.

(Knives in his hands, she remembers thinking. He has _knives_ in his hands, but the wrongness of it is wiped away by the beauty of his movements, the rifle falling into two pieces and their aggressors bailed up as he spins, a vortex of fury. She watched, spellbound, as the knives retracted into his knuckles, and was still thinking about them three hours later as they sat side by side in the cab of his camper.)

She’s seen him use them slice a man’s head clean off, seen them drip blood and fluids she has no name for. No matter. She’s always had a thing for them, shiny gleaming death, and lord above they’re beautiful, flickering orange and blue with the light from the fire burning on the other side of the room.

Rogue’s internal thermostat suddenly tops out at _too damn hot_ and there’s nothing on earth that could keep her silent right now.

“Oh God, _please_ Logan. Touch me,” she demands, and crawls into his lap, rocking her pelvis against his in silent demand. She’s drenched, her brain clouded with need to the point where the danger involved is no longer important, and her only focus is his claws, his heat, his touch.

Rogue wriggles in his lap and shrugs herself out of her flannel, then whips the tank underneath over her head. The bra she’s wearing is black and completely sheer, pouting nipples outlined with slavish devotion. The Wolverine’s growl vibrates through her bones as he takes in the sight, unthinkingly sheathing his claws as he raises his hands to touch her.

“No,” she objects. “I need them on my skin.”

“Can’t hurt you,” he begs, and she’s sympathetic, really she is, but isn’t about to be talked out of this. If she has to play dirty, she will.

“That day in the van – we had to stop to get gas, remember? And I went to the bathroom?”

He lets out a groan and she’s not sure if it’s the memory, or the fact her hands have covered his, gloved fingers massaging his knuckles.

“I had to get off, Logan. That was the first time I ever masturbated. Sitting in that filthy little washroom with my jeans around my ankles, thinking about you. About these,” she grins as the claws spring free once more.

He braces his hands on her jean-clad hips, bracketing her between them, as if having something to hold onto will keep his hands from wandering to the bare skin above. Fine.

Rogue brings her hands between them, grabbing his attention as she slowly removes the thick gloves she donned only out of acquiescence to the snow.

He shakes, and she knows it’s not out of fear.

“Maybe you’d cut me. But it’d be worth it.”

She trails her fingers down to his fists, massaging the knuckles that she knows are always sore, before continues along on the top of the blade. It’s sharp, ridiculously so, but she’s not pressing, merely absorbing the feel of the blood-warmed metal through her skin. It sings to her, not the way his bare skin would, but a song all the same, and her sex clenches in response.

He groans, and even through his jeans, she feels his cock throb. “You should have stayed, Logan. All those pretty little pictures in your head – I wanted to try them, every one.

His hands (claws, she rejoices, claws) grasp her about the waist and push her high enough to let him nose at her breasts, nudging one nipple, then the other into shrieking prominence. She’s panting by the time he lifts his head to stare up at her as he closes his teeth around one of the nubs, tugging and pulling until she cries out at the feel of him, and her, nothing but a shred of tight woven black mesh between them.

Then he brings his claws up to play.

“You like that, girl? The feel of them?” Logan asks as he flattens the wide edge of a single claw against her breast, sliding it back and forth, catching over her nipple each time.

Rogue tries to speak but is too overwhelmed; instead she reaches up to pull the cups of her bra underneath her breasts, baring her flesh to him.

He responds with a flood of curses that would have her telling him off any other time. Curses, and a lot of “mine,” some triumphant part of her still manages to note. Then the feel of the blood-warm blades against her nakedness drives every last thought from her head, consciousness fading to a litany of “Logan” and “fuck” and “more.”

When the draw starts, they both groan with the beauty of it. Rogue wails, then screams as bliss floods her, the agony of his desperately hard cock and the silk of her skin and the maddening smell of her, juices thick in the air for him to taste with every breath and she’s coming, coming … pushing him off her, his mouth disengaging from her bare, spit-slick nipple with a pop.

The veining is fading from his face by the time he manages to croak an apology. “I just needed your skin. To taste. So sorry, Marie. I know the last thing you need is me back in your head.”

“Was it worth it?”

“For me? Fuck yeah.”

“Wanna know a secret, Logan?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“I couldn’t decide who I missed more. You in my head, or you in the flesh.”

He looks baffled for a second, as if trying to decide whether to be offended or pleased. Then he shrugs, solution obviously found.

“Gonna be a fun threesome.”

Rogue grins at the thought, then leans back into him. “Just a bit every day. A little bit, careful like. We could start –“

He’s kissing her, no scarf, no protection, just bare lips and tongue, arms locked around her so she can’t do a damn thing except enjoy it. He lets their lips fall apart when he’s on the very edge of consciousness, but still manages to smirk up at her before his eyes flutter shut.

“Next kiss,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t quite catch it before he passes out.

“Heh,” the wiseass in her head offers. “You know what he wants to do.”

And she does, Logan’s freshly delivered thoughts relaying his plan in salacious detail: the rich colour of her hair against his pale bedspread, the way her knees will fall open as he approaches the bed. The glistening folds of her sex, drenched with anticipation, finally his. The look on her face as he takes the first, lightning-fast lick, the arch of her back as he sucks her swollen nub. How long he’ll last, he doesn’t know.

Doesn’t care, as long as he gets to taste her bliss.

Rogue blinks, and walks on wobbily legs to the bedroom to pull a blanket free of his bed. She drags it back to the couch and covers him, throwing her shirt on again before she nestles in next to him and closes her eyes.

Something tells her she’s going to need her sleep.


	3. Bring me to life

She wakes to the feel of him surrounding her, her entire body swallowed by the Wolverine’s bulk. They’re still on the couch, she realises slowly, but stretched out now, her head cradled on his chest, their arms folded over her belly, their legs tangling together below.

It’s exactly how she wants to wake up for the rest of her life, she thinks sleepily, turning her face up to his to find him gazing down at her. “Good morning,” she smiles, and he tangles his hand in her hair to drag her closer for a kiss. It’s fleeting, a merest flick of his tongue over her lips, but the sense of _mine_ and _right_ and _always_ leaves her purring.

“Not morning, but it’s damn good,” he rasps, nodding towards the window on the other side of the room. In the last rays of the sun, the snow-capped peaks that pierce the horizon glow orange and red in a triumphant salute to the end of the day. They couldn’t have slept long, Rogue realises, but she feels like a new person anyway. Reborn. Ready for the new day.

“Feels like morning,” she chirps, stretching as she swings her legs around to straddle him. “I’m hungry enough to eat a gator.”

“Could rustle you up some dinner, I suppose.”

“Mmm. In a bit. Let’s just sit a while.”

“You sit like that for very long, and we ain’t eating anytime soon, darlin’.”

Rogue grins and leans forward, running her bare hands down over the t-shirt he’s still wearing, playing idly with the button on his jeans. “I read in a very naughty magazine that there’s a lot of protein in a man’s … seed.”

Logan groans long and loud as she succeeds in sliding down his zipper. “Where’d you find porn at Xavier’s anyway?”

“Your cupboard,” she smirks. “Kinda knew where to look.” Kinda seen you, sugar, trying not to think about me. Felt the heft of you, heavy in your hand, aching, bursting, but those naked women not doing it for you. Saw you push the magazine to one side, and close your eyes, my eyes and my hair and my lips and my body on your mind as you stroke.

Rogue’s breath stutters, the stab of pure need taking her unawares. She’d been playing, mostly. But she’s had years of almost, and him-in-her-head, and now she’s sitting atop the real thing, and she can see him, naked through the gape of the zipper, pink and proud yet begging, and … she can kill him with a touch.

She slides off him without a word, practically sprinting across the room to rummage in the deep pockets of the parka she’d hung on the nail behind the door. It was shameless, she knows, waving her intentions like a red flag to her bull, but they’ve spent too long ashamed. Wasted so much time – wasted touch – and she wasn’t about to let it happen again. Not when a handful of condoms in her pocket was one answer to her every midnight prayer.

Late-afternoon prayer, she corrects as she stalks back to the couch. He’s sitting up now, an audible rumble shaking his chest as he eyes the strip of condoms in her hand, gaze so heated that her legs start to shake.   Late afternoon, midnight and morning.

“What you got there, girlie?”

“Protection,” she smirks, wondering if she should try for girlish. Establish the mood or something. Unnecessary, he snarls in her head.

“Sit forward, Logan. Like you’re driving.”

“With my cock hanging out?”

“How else is a girl supposed to say thank you for picking her up?”

The rumble becomes a growl.

“You said all the thank yous you needed to back then. All the thank yous I was willing to take, no matter what the horny bastard in my head has to say.”

“Okay then. This is my thank you for that – for not making a sixteen-year-old girl feel obliged. For reminding her she was still a kid, no matter what those truckers had to say. For not letting her crawl in the back with you, even though you could tell she wanted to.”

Rogue strips her gloves out of the pile of abandoned clothes, pulling them back on as she slides between Logan’s outstretched knees. The scrape of denim against her bare skin sends her senses into riot, eyes drinking in the sight of his cock straining to the vertical against his belly, the pungent musk making her mouth water. Her fingers shake as she rips open the first packet without taking her eyes from him, then gropes for the memory of sex ed class as she strokes him with a tentative gloved hand.

“I won’t hurt you, Logan,” she promises, and his thigh muscles clench a little tighter either side of her ribs.

“Not the problem,” he says through gritted teeth. “Trust you.”

She’s smiling even as the artificial taste of the condom permeates her tastebuds. Thrills to the heat of him, the little sounds he’s making, the rake of long fingers through her hair … the progressively uncontrolled buck of his hips as she experiments. Dances her tongue over the sharp cut lines of his cockhead, still tangible through the latex. Traces a finger around his balls, and behind, the little pucker his experiences have told her can be sensitive. Wraps a hand tight around the base of his cock as the thrusts into her mouth become deeper and more jerky.

His howl bounces off the walls when he starts to empty into the condom, the sound desperate and triumphant and heartfelt all at once. Rogue relaxes her hands but continues to suck, wanting to absorb every last shudder and spasm. Wanting desperately to rid her mouth of the taste of latex, and fill it with the taste of him. One day, she vows. She’ll find her switch, even if it’s just for this.

Logan’s eyes are still closed when he fumbles for her arms and lifts her clean off her knees, collapsing them back onto the couch together. She wants to scold him – her skimpy bra and jeans combo leave too much skin bare for that sort of carelessness - but then he swipes his lips over her forehead and demolishes every last one of her arguments.

_Done waiting, mine now, if you’re okay with it, gonna touch you every chance I get, be part of you, jus like you’re part of me, til your skin can’t tell where we end, gonna be inside you, gonna taste you, and this here? This is our gift … love you baby girl, my Marie, my Rogue, need you, want you, love you …_

She cuddles into him, happy tears drying on her face as he recuperates, before her rumbling stomach forces her to her feet. “Making a start on dinner,” she whispers when he starts to pat around looking for her, smiling as he grunts and turns into the warm space she has left on the couch.

He’s a bit shamefaced when he makes his way into the kitchen to the smell of steak and roast potatoes, a heaping of honey carrots on the side.

“Couldn’t find anything green,” Rogue shrugs, as she digs in his cupboards for cutlery.

“Fresh out,” Logan shrugs and she wrinkles her nose at him, knowing his distaste for green vegetables. “You bring anything up with you?”

She practically glows. “Not this time. Maybe we can hike down together and see what we can find in the store.”

“Won’t be much” he cautions, “not exactly Westchester out here. Maybe some broccoli, or frozen peas. Or stuff in tins.”

She shrugs in acceptance, and they share the same satisfied smile. Things are settled. And the sooner dinner is done, the sooner they’ll get to bed.

(Fucking on the table can wait for another, less special day.)

It’s full dark by the time they stack their plates on the sink, Logan plucking the teatowel out of her hand as he pushes the length of his body into her back.

“Tomorrow, you’re gonna model those bodysuits for me,” he growls into her ear. “But tonight ...”

His sheets are the thinnest, finest cotton money can buy, Rogue discovers. Up here, they should be thick flannel, but he heaps an extra blanket on instead. And thinks of her every night.

She remembers now. But –

“What did you have mind?” Wants to hear him admit to it.

“I’m gonna use the sheet. Taste every part of you. Been thinking about it for a while.”

“Really?”

His lips twitch at her pretence she doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been thinking about this. Rolling it around in his mind on a near-nightly basis. Simultaneously telling himself it could never happen, while preparing for it.

“Yup. I’ve had these sheets a couple of years now. Nice and thin. Feel good for both of us.”

So thin he’d be able to feel the bumps of her areola once he’d dampened the cotton with his tongue. So thin he could distinguish between the plump glory of her clit and the delicate petals below. So thin, he’d imagined himself drunk on the taste of her pussy, juices permeating the cotton so thoroughly they’d never lose her scent.

“Just lying beside you is going to be good, Logan. You making love to me – me making love to you? That’s going to be amazing. Fantastic. Monumental,” Rogue vows, then grabs a fistful of t-shirt to lead him into the bedroom.

 

He pulls her into him as they stand at the end of the bed, burying his face in her hair. “Do you have a scarf? I really want to kiss you.”

“Not one you could kiss me through,” she says ruefully. “And you’re not allowed to pass out on me now, sugar. No bare skin.”

“Just as well I’ve spent four years thinking about this, then,” he growls. He’s already unbuttoning the flannel shirt she’d stolen from him, hot eyes admiring the slow reveal of the black bra that had driven him crazy just a few hours earlier. He’s more careful with her jeans, managing to slide them down her legs without brushing her skin, lingering to press a hot, wet kiss onto her covered mound as his hands blindly work the jeans free of her legs.

“Gonna come just tasting you,” he moans, and Rogue tries to say something sensible, beg him to be careful, shriek “deadly skin”, order him to go slow, but the heat of his tongue, and the press of it even through her panties … she didn’t know. Borrowed memories, shared fantasies, don’t feel like that. Everything in her tightening, every sense on edge. Every thought vaporised to _yes, yes, yes_ … and he hasn’t really started yet.

“On your back.”

Her eyes jerk down to his at the roughness of the command, the dark reek of his animal suddenly stronger in the air. A small part of her objects to being ordered around, but the rest is moving backwards already, shimmying up the bed with embarrassing speed, unable to take her eyes off him.

“Underwear off.”

She wriggles out of the black mesh, then unhooks her bra. His growl is a constant thing now, a rough soundtrack to the lust crackling between them, the verbal equivalent of heat of his yellow gaze on her breasts, her belly, the patch of curls between her legs.

“Spread for me.”

Marie flushes from forehead to toes, but her knees seem inclined to obey him regardless of the self-consciousness sweeping over her. She moves them apart, then at the cock of his eyebrow, lets them fall open. Logan drags in a long breath, tasting her in the air, then moves forward, tugging the upper sheet free of the bed, and floating it down over her lower body.

She’ll be able to watch, she realises after a long, slow blink. To burn, as he holds her gaze, her heart starting to rocket out of his chest as he crawls over her, looms, stares down into her face. “Wanna change your mind?"

She can see them fighting it out in his eyes, instinctive dominance at war with the man’s need to cherish her. His snarled orders had left her drenched and quivering; his insistence on putting her needs first gives her the strength to be his equal.

“Why in the world would I want to do that?” she asks, tangling her fingers in his hair. “There’ll be no running from this anymore. You’re my mate, Logan.”

“The Wolverine tell you that?”

“No. He said I was his. But I’m sayin’ I’m yours. What do _you_ say?”

“Wolverine and Rogue. Logan and Marie. Makes sense.”

“Is that all I am to you? Good sense?”

He smirks in response and lowers his hands to shape the sheet to the generous curves of her body. “Might be a few other things I like. Your pigheadedness, maybe.”

Rogue shivers as his long fingers wrap around the side of one breast, stroking, the nipple jumping to aching prominence at even that gentle touch.

“Good in a fight. That’s a plus.” He plucks at the nipple, pinching it through the soft cotton, and her hips buck helplessly. “Valuable member of the team.” His mouth descends.

They groan in unison as the material dampens, then clings, a sight so arousing that he moves to the other breast to torture it into the same state. Rogue wants to sass him back, but her consciousness keeps shrinking to the kiss of wet cotton on her nipples, the hot cave of his mouth, the sting of his teeth when he clamps them around a nipple and pulls.

Then he suckles hard, and it stabs straight to her twisting, clenching, desolate sex.

“Oh God please Logan, please, I need you, lower please ….”

He lifts his head to growl up at her, yellow eyes demanding.

“Where?”

Thought about it, sure. Seen it through someone else’s eyes. But Rogue had never imagined it was something she was capable of saying aloud. Begging for, no less.

“My pussy, please. Lick my pussy. Eat me out. It hurts, Logan. I need, I need …”

“You need to come, don’t you darlin? Need to come all over my face, while I fuck you with my fingers? My tongue?”

“Yes. Oh God yes.”

His hands have already moved south, tracing the quivering muscles of her belly and dancing around her belly button, before one finger journeys over the plumpness of her mound, up and down the lips of her sex, tickling, but not pressing inside. Her arousal gushes to meet him anyway, a spreading blot on the pale sheet that he bends to taste without taking his eyes from hers.

“That my starter, darlin’? You gonna give me main course? And dessert too? Maybe I’ll have to add good cook to the list,” he teases and she’s got a smart comeback for that, she does, but he’s nudging his finger between her lower lips, and flattening his tongue against the sheet to wet it some, and oh God, gliding his finger up from the wet little cavern to the sensitive nub above.

Sass is the last thing on her mind as he strokes and tickles and rubs until she wails and writhes, panting his name every time he denies her anew. Then she floods, leaving the sheet a sticky, sodden mess, and the animal comes roaring back.

“Gonna fuck you now.”

Rogue gropes for the roll of condoms she’d thrown on the bedside table and tears one off, holding out the foil square for him to take. He shoves his jeans down instead, letting his cock spring free, her breathless stare making him throb so hard it verges on pain.

“Put it on me.”

She kneels up to obey, careful not to get too close. He reaches out anyway, the sway of her breasts seemingly irresistible, and she slaps his hand away without thinking. The wet snikt of his claws ripping free of his hands makes her freeze like a hunted rabbit, suddenly aware that this man, her lover, isn’t just a man.

And she’s about to be fucked by the animal.

He lowers his head to glare into her face, and she knows she should back away, scuttle for safety, or at least cower before him. Instead, she holds his gaze, stubborn chin held high, and reaches for his cock with her gloved hand.

Pumps him.

He practically purrs under her fingers, arching into her touch and she’d like to play with him – with them – for hours when he responds like that, but, but …

“Please Logan,” she begs, lying back, pulling the sheet up to her neck, trusting him to keep clear of her face.

He slices a hole in the sheet and takes her virginity with a roar.

She’d fantasised this moment a million times. So had he, and neither of them had come close, Rogue marvels. The feel of him inside of her, stretching tissues that have never been stretched before, is overwhelming. He stills, and they breathe together, rigid, and she thinks she’ll go mad with the waiting.

When he starts to move, she lets go of any need for sanity.

His mouth, biting at her nipples through the sheet. His thumb, flicking at her clit. His cock, a burning brand intent on splitting her apart, one neuron at a time. Touch crashes over her, friction and pressure and his weight pushing her into the mattress, but there’s something even more intense lurking, ready to pounce. Her legs climb around his hips and cling helplessly, her pussy clenches around his cock, convulsing with every thrust until everything coils tight, hangs suspended, an impossibly long moment that leaves her hanging for eternity before it spits her out on the shore of forever.

“Oh. My. Lord,” she wails, and clenches him harder as he starts to shake and shudder in her arms. Nothing, _nothing_ will ever feel this good, some silly, girlish part of her insists.

_Heh. Trust me, darlin’. You ain’t seen nothing yet._

Rogue blinks, and puts it down to post-orgasmic delirium. Maybe he did break her, because there’s no way she could have heard him in her head, not yet. She must have imagined that familiar, dark purr, conjured him up with her wishful thinking.

He’d sounded damned pleased with himself, though. Just like she always knew he would.

They would.

Whatever, Rogue surrenders with a grin, and closes her eyes, complete.

_fin_


End file.
